


The Night's Bride

by Redbirdblackdog



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Arranged Marriage, Cannon Divergence Night King, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, King-Beyond-the-Wall, Misunderstandings, Night King AU, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redbirdblackdog/pseuds/Redbirdblackdog
Summary: Sansa lived a charmed life since the day she was born. Gentle and beloved by the North her future was bright.Shortly after her 12th name day her soul-mark appears and everything changed. Sansa will not go South, she will go North. She will be married to Winter himself.
Relationships: Night's King & Sansa Stark, Night's King/Sansa Stark
Comments: 87
Kudos: 172





	1. Charmed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ineedminions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineedminions/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa was born on a clear cold night. Catelyn cried with joy as she held her close, her second child, a child born of love. The babe finds her breast and Catelyn traces the tiny hand and wonders at the miracle in her arms. She memorizes the baby’s brow, the shade of her eyes and the plump of her cheeks. Ned comes in to greet her with a kiss to her head. 

"You have a daughter," she offers with a smile. 

His eyes are soft, he sits down beside her and gently brushes at the baby’s soft red hair with his fingertips. “You've given me a beautiful daughter, lovely as her mother”. He chuckles to himself, “a southern flower to light up these dark northern halls. A true blessing from the Gods. What shall we call her?" 

She smiles running her fingers through the wisps of red hair. "Sansa," she says with a smile, "it means charm, for she has charmed my husband with one look." 

"Sansa Stark, it is a good name." He kisses her brow. He was instantly smitten. While his wife rests, he bundles his daughter in furs and spends nearly two hours showing his Sansa off to everyone in the castle. He orders the bells to ring from sunrise to sunset, in honor of her birth. He calls Sansa his little red rose. 

Sansa truly was a light in the castle, a beacon of joy during the long nights of winter. Her family doted on her, the townspeople adored her. Her kind heart was obvious and she thrived among the people of the North. She was gentle and generous, a true Lady, loved by all. She truly lived the charmed life. There were rumors of betrothals in her future from Last Hearth to Dorne. Even the crown spoke of forging alliances, making her a queen. Her life was a song and her whole future was bright with possibilities. Until the day it all changed. 

Not long after her twelfth name day, her fate was sealed.It was on as a cold spring morning, frost still dotting the landscape. Sansa had ridden her horse out to the meadow and was having a small tea with her friend Jeyne. Robb, Jon and Arya had grown bored of trying to steal cookies and were playing in a nearby creek. Suddenly Sansa cried out. She sobbed and screamed, none of the children could calm her. Robb held her close, rocking her gently and whispering soft words. Jeyne sang her a song and stroked her hair. Nothing they did helped. Sansa just continued to weep. Jon rode to the keep for help. Returning with help, the guardsman scooped Sansa up and rode hard for the gates, the other children followed. Sansa was rushed to the maester and no one, not Caetlyn, Ned or even Old Nan the nursemaid could soothe her. Sansa cried and screamed, begging for someone to stop the hurting. To stop the pain.

Ned paced, Catelyn cried and prayed holding Sansa close. The maester finally helped her to sleep with a tonic for one twice her size. Still the rest was fitful and she lay whimpering in her sleep. She had no bruises or scrapes and no broken bones. There was nothing wrong except unbearable pain. It wasn't until the next morning while Catelyn bathed and dressed her still whimpering daughter she saw the mark. It was faint, like a healing burn. A pattern slightly raised and pink, dark in places like it was streaked with ash. Catelyn was confused as she traced the lines with a finger. She was startled when the Old Nan left in a rush. 

Ned slammed through the door minutes later. "Let me see her," he demanded. "Let me see the mark." There was no patience in his voice. 

Catelyn brushed Sansa's hair to one side relieving the mark. "What is it?"

Ned's face fell and paled. His words were soft but somber, "it is an honor, a promise." His words are praise but his tone was full of fear. 

"I don’t understand?" Catelyn shakes her head. "What does that mean?" 

Ned sits beside her on the bed. "Sansa bears his mark, she is his. She has been chosen, betrothed you could say. He will come for her." 

"Who?" She pulls her daughter close to her chest. 

"The Night King. The Frozen Lord. The Shadow Man. The Walking Death. The Winter King. He has many names but he always comes for those chosen. He will come for her. She belongs to him now." 

"No. She's mine." Catelyn shakes her head and strokes her daughters hair. "She is a Southern flower. She is our red rose, you said it yourself. She is destined to be a great Lady, a Queen." 

Ned looks solemn as ever, "there is no denying it. She will be Queen, his Winter Queen. She will go North. Through our lands, past the Gift, beyond the Wall. Her sacrifice will save us all." 

"No," Catelyn mutters, rocking her daughter. “No, I forbid it.” 

Her protests fall on deaf ears. "I will call my Banners, the Northern Lords will all come and we will feast in celebration." He reaches out to touch Sansas shoulder but stops short. He bows his head and leaves instead. 

"What is happening?" Catelyn begs. She buries her face into her daughters hair, her Red Rose is destined for the South. Destined for great things. 

"She's been marked my Lady," the Old Nan answers. "He placed his mark of protection on her. She belongs to the North now and will until he comes for her." 

"I don't understand," Catelyn cries. 

"You will with time," she answers. "The Volkumn will be summoned… she will teach Sansa the old ways." 

"The Volkumn?" Catelyn asks. 

"The woodwitch, she will come." 

"And if I refuse?" 

"You cannot, he is Winter itself and his wrath will be without mercy. He will have her," Old Nan answers. Then she whispers, "to refuse… would damn us all." 

"No, no, no," Catelyn mutters into her daughter's hair.

"She needs the Godswood now and the cold. Tonics and salves will not relieve her pain. The Seven can't help her now. We must leave it to the Old Gods, they will heal her. She must learn the old ways." 

"I don't…" Catelyn sputters. 

"You will," the Old Nan answers. “All will be explained.”


	2. Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was only a child but the fate of the North was now resting on her shoulders. That was the day her fate was sealed. This is the day her world fell apart. The Volkumn explains, she's been marked by the Night King, he has marked her as his bride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She was only a child but the fate of the North was now resting on her shoulders. That was the day her fate was sealed. This is the day her world fell apart. The Volkumn explains, she's been marked by the Night King, he has marked her as his bride.

Everything was different after that. Sansa remembers waking by the pool in the Godswood. Wrapped in furs. The Volkumn was sitting near singing a song she didn’t understand. It was calm and slow, Sansa could swear the trees sang along. Even the songs from the birds had never sounded so sweet. The pain in her shoulder is gone and she stretches under the furs. 

"Hello little one," the Volkumn offers, noticing her stir. 

“What happened?” Sansa asks. 

“Everything's changed LeLelia,” the Volkumn whispers, stroking her hair. “Your world has changed.” 

“LeLelia?” She asks. 

“It means Little Weirwood in the Old Tongue. I saw it in a vision long ago, the Queen would be found here. I've been in Winterfell ever since, waiting. I had my suspicions it would be you, now I am sure.” 

“Queen?” Sansa asks. “I always dreamed of going South, is it lovely?” 

“Not South dear child,” the Volkumn corrects. “You will go North, you will be the Queen of Winter.” 

"Queen of Winter?" Sansa asks quietly. "Like the stories?" 

"Yes, but they are more than stories. They are our history." 

"But I don't want to," Sansa argues. 

"Fate has decided," the Volkumn answers. "It is meant to be. You will go when he calls, near your eighteenth name day." 

"But South…" 

"You will go North and your souls will become one," the Volkumn answers. 

"I don't understand," she whines. 

"I will help you," the Volkumn replies. "I will be here to help you learn the old ways, to be his bride." She cards her fingers through her hair to soothe her. "You are beautiful, smart and gentle … a wonderful queen you will be. You will make him stronger and kinder." 

"Is he mean?" 

"He is a man… he has his flaws. You are what he needs to be a true King. It is the old way." 

"He needs me?" Sansa asks. 

"He does, your souls are destined for each other. He is incomplete till you are together." 

“Why did it have to hurt so?”

“Love is pain LeLelia, sacrifices must be made. He is your soulmate, your match… he will love you as no other can."  
….

They came then, Lords from every Northern seat. The Volkumn told her they came to bless her betrothal, to pay homage to her and her husband. It wasn’t like that though. They all came though, Boltons, Karstarks, Mormonts, the Umbers and Manderlays. Even the Flints and the Norreys were present with all the rest. Every Lord and heir bowed in respect to her father and then to her as well. They brought her gifts for her betrothal and pledged to keep her safe. They called it a tourney but it was more like a fight in the mud. The six men left standing became her guards, more like her jailors. Six years they would serve until she was of age. She was to be protected, they say, until her husband comes for her. But all she felt was trapped. 

She is to be perfect, forged into a prize, a worthy gift for a King. To become worthy she was caged, lectured and molded. Sansa is no more than another sacrifice, a calf waiting to be slaughtered. She cannot play or run with her siblings or the other children. Her mother's touches stopped long ago. She may be the image of her Southern mother but the Volkumn calls her LeLalia, Little Weirwood. She is now a prisoner in her home, until he comes to take her to a new cage. They called her the gift and kept her locked up tight. For a gift that is stolen would doom this the North. 

They did it for him, not for her. Everyone looked at her with a combination of pity and fear. She was a sacrifice to appease a monster who named himself King. They feared him and his wrath, so they feared her as well.  
….

She heard the Volkumn argue many nights with her father. 

“She should ride,” the Volkumn pleads. “She should still hawk and greet the townsfolk. She is a Queen, she should know the people. She should be free to roam and explore outside the castle walls. Free to be happy. He wants her to be happy.”

Her parents always disagreed. “Sansa must be protected from all harm. Any injury will be repaid tenfold,” Ned argued. “Any offense will be met with pain and suffering. If he is unsatisfied the North will feel his wrath.” 

“He is not vengeful,” the Volkumn explains. “He is harsh and unyielding, but he loves her and only she can warm his heart.” 

“You speak as if you rule these lands,” Catelyn hisses. “As if you know this monster.”

Ned interjects, “he has taken enough I will not let the North suffer.” 

"You have men around her at all times,” the Volkumn argues, “she can scarcely take a step without supervision. She is a captive inside her own home. This is not what he would want, these are not the old ways." 

"The old ways are dead," Ned growls. 

"But you fear him," the Volkumn threatens. 

“I know what happens when he is denied his sacrifice.” 

"She is your daughter," the Volkumn pleads. 

"No, not any longer," his voice low and sad.

They hate her… they all do. Sansa felt it as if she’d been struck in the face. Just like everyone else her parents said it was a blessing but treated her as a curse. She could feel the tears forming and ran for the only place of solace she had left… the Godswood. Her guards trailed her steps everywhere … everywhere but the Godswood. 

The Godswood was different now… or maybe she was different. Instead of cold and dark, it felt crisp and familiar. She knelt down by the tree and let her tears fall. She cried for her past and for her future. She cried for the loss of her family.

"Please help me be strong," she prays. "Help me be brave." 

"You are both already." 

Sansa turns to see the Volkumn approaching. "I'm afraid," Sansa whispers through her tears. 

"Ahh," the Volkumn answers. "But we must be afraid to be brave LeLelia." She holds her arms open and Sansa runs to her, letting the woman hold her close. 

"I hate him," Sansa mumbles. "He ruined everything." 

"Hush," the Volkumn tuts. "He did no such thing. His love and life is what he gave you." She strokes Sansa's hair to calm her. 

"But my family hates me because of him." 

"They do not understand," she answers. "It's easy to fear what you don't understand. Everything will come to light, your future is not as dark as it appears."  
….

Sansa tried so hard to be brave, to be good at everything. Maybe if she was good enough her family would love her again. Maybe he would love her too. She had heard if she wasn’t good enough the North would be punished. If she didn't please her husband the whole North would pay the price. So she was diligent in her studies. She learned from the Maester the ways of the South, same as her siblings. She learned the old ways from the Volkumn to satisfy her betrothed. The Volkumn taught her the history North of the Wall, the battles and the triumphs. She taught her of the free folk and the Northern Court. She was taught how to heal with the things the woods provided. Then harder things still, how to trust her instincts and quiet her soul to listen to the trees and the wind. 

“Remember LeLelia,” the Volkumn reminds her, “the truth is in your heart but it only whispers… you must be quiet to hear it.” 

The Volkumn had such faith in her but Sansa still longed for the love of her mother. She persevered though, she strove to be a true Lady, to make her mother proud. Her mother had turned away from her to focus on her other children. She was all but dead to her already treated as a ghost. It was a pain that cut Sansa deeply.

Sansa finally asked the Volkumn one day, “why doesn't mother love me anymore?” 

“She doesn't understand. She sees you as a sacrifice, something that's been stolen.” 

“We could explain…” 

“They don’t understand you LeLeila,” the Volkumn answers, “they don’t understand him. They fear what they don’t know and the shadow he casts is large.”  
….

The years go by and Sansa tries not to despair over her fate. There is still hope. 

One evening she confesses to the Volkumn. “I know someday he will call for me, someday he will come. There will be no blonde prince for me. No brave knight. All I have is him. That's all I will ever have.” She takes a deep breath, “I hear what they say, they call me cursed. They call me the Ice Queen and Lady of the Dead. I am none of those things, but somehow I am all of them. I will take the little comforts I can find.”

The Volkumn wraps Sansa in her arms. “Do not despair, there is more hope than you can see.” 

“What if he sets me aside….” Sansa bites her lip. “What if he sets me aside like my family has? What if he doesn’t love me?”

“He will love you,” the Volkumn answers, “with all his heart.” She takes Sansa's face into her hands. She wipes her tears away. “You are meant to be. Made for him… and him for you.” She pulls her into her chest and strokes her hair. “You will show him love and happiness. Only with you will he become a true King. For with his Queen protecting his heart he will have no weakness.” 

Sansa nods, “I try so hard to brave.” 

“I’ll tell you a secret LeLeila,” she pulls away to look in her eyes. “It’s you they should fear not him. He will follow his heart, and you are his heart.” 

“But he is the King.”

“He is, but you are his Queen. You will wield greater power than any Queen in the realm. They all bow to him, even Winter itself… but he bows only to you.” 

“Then I will make him love me, I will be a Queen of love.” 

“That is why you were chosen my dear girl. You will make him believe it, make them all believe it.” 

“Tell me more about him,” Sansa asks. “Tell me everything you can.” 

“The Old Stories tell that your betrothed is Winter itself, forged from ice and snow. That the snow falls and the winter winds blow at his whim. They say he breathes death. He will be cold and demanding, which he is... for all but you.”

“Why am I so different? What if I cannot please him, the North will suffer.” If displeased she will be sacrificed and the North will suffer until he is placated. 

The Volkum just laughs, “Oh sweet girl. Your husband may be dark and cold, that I do not dispute. He has no wrath for you. He does not want a Southern Lady, he wants a Northern Queen. He wants your smile to brighten his halls. Your hands to warm his soul. He owes his love to you, do not doubt my words. The Night King wants your strength and your love. You are the only one that can give it to him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So chapter two. What did you think? I know its moving a bit slow, but explaining the fears & folklore I thought was important. Next chapter moves into the present tense and everything begins to come together.
> 
> Hopefully I can post every few days. We'll see if I can keep up.  
> Thanks for reading.


	3. The Southern Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The South comes calling to Winterfell, and it was like a dream for Sansa. The King, the Queen, the Knights in shining armor it was all too beautiful. Just like a song. 
> 
> The Southern King and Lords did not understand the North though. They thought it was all folklore and a ruse. The Night King, they scoff. Robert thought it a trick to deny the South the beauty of their Red Rose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The South comes calling to Winterfell, and it was like a dream for Sansa. The King, the Queen, the Knights in shining armor it was all too beautiful. Just like a song. 

The Southern King and Lords did not understand the North though. They thought it was all folklore and a ruse. The Night King, they scoff. Robert thought it a trick to deny the South the beauty of their Red Rose. 

The King, the real King in the South spoke of court and balls and a betrothal to his son. Hope bloomed anew. But her father denied him at every turn. 

One evening at dinner King Robert whines about her 'so-called' betrothal. "How dare you Ned, my friend, deny my court the Red Rose." 

"Robert, we discussed this," her father says sternly. 

Robert laughs, "you speak of some Northern monster… some false King." Robert takes a long swig of ale, "I don't see him here, I don't see him now. He is nothing and no one. How can you deny my son a beauty like this over some fairytale?"

"Enough," Ned booms slamming his hand on the table. 

The whole room looks at Ned in surprise. Every conversation stops. 

"Sansa is betrothed," Ned declares. "It cannot be severed." 

The Southerners continue to laugh and joke about the 'monster king' beyond the wall.

Sansa is embarrassed and ashamed. She escapes to her room and can't stop the tears from falling. The Volkumn finds her crying into her pillow. 

"Ignore those Southerners, they don't know of what they speak."

"He is the King, who are we to defy him?" 

"No LaLelia, he's a King. You know who you are," the Volkumn scolds brushing her hair out of her face. "And you know to whom you belong." 

"That's it isn't it? I'm just a pawn to barter with." Sansa snaps. 

"It's so much more than that to your betrothed. We need you lass. You can doom us all," the Volkumn says. "When he calls for his bride he will have you or he will take away life itself. These Southerns do not know our ways, they don't know our Gods. They mean to steal from a God, no girl they cannot have you. They don't understand." 

Sansa knew she was being petulant, but she didn’t care. "How do you know? No one even knows if he's real," she argues. "You are all afraid of a tale. You would deny me happiness for a story. What if it's all a farce?"

"He is real silly girl. He may not be flesh and bone like these handsome Southern men. He could lay them all to waste with a word. He waited a long time for his bride. Your father sent for me the day you were marked. I once lived North of the Wall. I’ve seen your betrothed with my own eyes.” 

“You've seen him?” 

“Yes, now hush girl, time to rest.” The Volkumn helps her into bed and sings a long slow song about the promise of Spring. 

The next day a raven comes from the North. Her betrothed has called for her. It's all really happening now… five days is all she has left. Five days left of this life. 

The news only makes the South more pompous. They joke and jibe about the monster King coming to retrieve his prize. It is all too much. All Sansa wants is a little love and beauty in her life and now all those hopes were dying before her eyes. 

There was one of the Southern knights that seemed as charmed by her as she was of him. He was tall, strong and his eyes met hers with warmth she had never known. He was unafraid of her betrothed. The man declared he was consumed by her beauty that he could die with a happy heart if only to spend an afternoon with her. So he asked her to ride with him along the moors. What could it hurt? A few hours in the company of Southern chivalry before she was cast out with the heathens. 

She was wrong, so wrong. Once they were past the ramparts he stole the reins of her horse. When her guard objects he is slashed through the belly with a dagger. She is not truly scared until he leads her deep into the wolfswood. 

She musters all her courage. "Where are we going Ser?" She pleads, "I have to go home," but he gives no reply. They rode for what seemed like hours, when she fears he will never stop it happens. A large dark wolf, the largest she's ever seen bolts from the trees his horse stumbles out of fear. The wolf doesn't faulter though, bringing the horse down easily. Horse and man are broken in the crash. The wolf is gone as suddenly as it appears. She settles her mare the best she can and comes to tend the man as he screams in pain. His leg is displaced, broken she is sure. She reaches out to help him, but his hand grabs her wrist so tight it hurts. 

"I meant to have you in a bed tonight," he growls at her. "The Forbidden Red Rose all for me. I'll have you now, there's nothing you can do." 

He pulls her closer and she tries to push away. He sneers at her then and his free hand strikes her face. She falls to her knees but quickly scrambles to her feet. He catches her skirt, his grip strong. "I have you now little ice bitch."

She stomps on his hurt leg with her boot. He howls in pain and loses his hold. She looks for her mare, but she must have startled and ran. So Sansa runs and runs until she can no longer hear his threats. She collapses into the base of a tree, she tries to calm her breaths listening for footfalls or his angry words. She folds her skirts around her and wraps her cloak in tight. Making herself small. Her hat and hood cover her head. She buries her face into the soft fur of her gloves and cries quietly. She feels so small. She is just a stupid girl with stupid dreams. After her tears start to slow she peeks out from under her hood. She realizes how dark the forest is and how very alone she is. She quiets her thoughts and listens to the wind in the trees. She's still scared, but she swears in the rustle of the leaves a voice whispers she will be alright. 

Sansa wakes to the songs of birds and feels surprisingly warm. She looks up and sees it, her breath catches in her throat. The dark wolf from the previous day is pressed in beside her with his head on her lap. She should be afraid, but feels a strange sort of comfort with him near. She raises her hand slowly and strokes the fur between his ears. It's softer than she imagined and she smiles as he leans into her touch like a pup. He stalks off not long after but she's sure she saw him darting in and out between the trees. 

The sun is high in the sky before her father's men find her. She is bruised and hungry, but unharmed. She can see the fear in the eyes of her father's men though. They wonder how damaged she is. She's not though, she refuses their help and manages to stand on her own. She stands tall and proud… she has nothing to be ashamed of. She accepts assistance to mount the horse offered, she holds her head high as she races for home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! He's so close. Next chapter we will see a bit of the man we've heard so much about. 
> 
> This has obviously strayed from Cannon and I'm not looking back now.


	4. The Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She will not cry, she is a Stark and she can be brave. She encourages her mare to the gate blocking the tunnel through the Wall. The Lord's of the North will follow behind her in parade, but the tone is more of a funeral procession. They surround her in support, but she is the only one who will not return. She straightens her shoulders and raises her chin as she waits for the porticus to raise. She insists to be the first one through, she will show her betrothed her strength. She nudges her horse to canter down the long tunnel under the Wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here, it's finally here the day that will decide all their fates. She can't explain the strange sense of excitement she feels. They had traveled to Castle Black, only arriving the previous night. She bathes that morning, a milk bath with lavender and three drops of her own blood, a strange custom indeed. She is now dressed in black from head to toe. Her gown is black as night as are the furs on her shoulders. A circlet of burnt black wood is woven into her hair, the rest of her hair falling free. Her maiden cloak, a bastard version of the Starks… black as night with a pale outline of direwolves pacing the bottom hem. She looks like a ghost, her pale skin in contrast to the dark. She laughs to herself, she is a ghost, mourning her old life. 

The Volkumn is there too, "be brave LaLeila," she whispers. "The Old Gods will keep you safe." 

Sansa doesn't believe it, but she nods in return. “Thank you for everything. Thank you for being there for me. It means more than I can ever express.” 

She will not cry, she is a Stark and she can be brave. She encourages her mare to the gate blocking the tunnel through the Wall. The Lord's of the North will follow behind her in parade, but the tone is more of a funeral procession. They surround her in support, but she is the only one who will not return. She straightens her shoulders and raises her chin as she waits for the porticus to raise. She insists to be the first one through, she will show her betrothed her strength. She nudges her horse to canter down the long tunnel under the Wall.

Sansa looks ahead, there is a great open field covered with fresh snow. She will cross the expanse, the men of the North will follow her halfway. She shakes her head and focuses on the regiment of men on the other side of the field. She can see him now, tall and broad atop his horse. He stands out against his men, a strange dark presence to him even from afar. 

“What good ever came from making a man wait?” She whispers to herself. And this is no man, this is a King. She encourages her horse forward. Her father and the Lords of the North line up in ranks to see her off. They march beside her but they stop 100 yards from the center. 

Her betrothed does the same with his men at his back. It feels like an eternity until she meets him face to face. She refuses to look back, only forward. She must be worthy of him, he is all she has now. 

She assesses him as he nears. A jagged black crown peaks out from under his hood marking him as King… he doesn't need it though, anyone can see who holds the power here. He wears black armor, a mixture of leather, steel and fur. Black covers every last inch of him. A black cloak falls over his shoulders and his hood shadows his helm so all she can feel his heavy stare. He motions with his hand and two men help her from her horse. She bites back her fear and looks up to him searching for a response… approval. He slides off his horse and approaches her with a confident step. He reaches for her and holds her jaw tipping her head side to side, examining her like a cattle at auction. She bites back her anger and fear. He can see it she thinks. He brushes her cheek, wiping away the powder that covered her fading bruise. He cocks his head at her slightly and his first finger drags across her bottom lip still slightly swollen. She tries to meet his eyes but it's like he's cloaked in a shadow. The tilt of his head tells her he looks down the rest of her and she straightens her posture in response. 

He turns to the man to his right, they seem to have a conversation without words, then back to her. 

“Who injured you?” His voice low and steady, “who dares to hurt my wife?” 

She is shocked for a moment then answers. “A knight from the Crownlands. He went riding with me then he tried to steal me away.” 

“And where is this knight now?” He asks with a growl. 

“Dead. Food for the forest. I watched as my father executed him for his crime.” 

“Did he hurt you?”

“He tried,” she answers back, lifting her chin proudly. 

She is awaiting a response from her betrothed. He doesn't make a sound or move a muscle. 

With one quick move he rips off her cloak, letting it fall to the ground. She takes a sharp breath in but doesn't make a sound, biting back a scream. He unhooks his own and secures it around her. It's heavy and warm. 

He turns away from her. He removes his gloves and places a hand on her horse's head in a surprisingly gentle fashion. Her mare nickers nervously. His hand, almost black against her pale gray face. In one smooth movement his knife is out and the mare's life spills hot and red against the snow. He holds the bridle tight as the mare tries to shy away, moments later she goes to her knees before stilling lifeless on the ground. It’s a symbol, she can never go home. He kneels and whispers words over the dead horse before he stands. With horror Sansa watches him brush his bloody finger across her cheek where the bruise marks her and from her lower lip down her chin.

He steps in close to her as his hands come up to hold her face. “I am yours and you are mine,” he says in a low rumble. 

She is frozen in fear for a heartbeat. “I am yours and you are mine, “ she answers. Should she close her eyes for the kiss? She looks up at him. He has not removed his helm, does he not mean to kiss her? She settles her gaze on him. His thumbs shift stroking her cheeks gently. He moves silently but quickly, lifting her onto his horse as climbs on behind her. 

He spins his horse and faces the Northmen. He moves his hand and lifts his head higher. A cold wind whips across the expanse, the northmen to disappear into the icy fog. He really does have power here.

She breathes a sigh of relief, he has accepted her. The North is safe, even if she is not. He holds her close with one arm. He is warm, very warm. She clings to the dark leather of his arm, what has she done? 

They ride hard through the snow, every mile more men seem to join his pack. They finally slow at the base of a great mountain and file through a narrow cleft in its side. The men can only ride three abreast, her husband rides ahead with her at the front. After a few minutes the sides open up and a small stone castle appears from the mist and snow. It looks so small, no bigger than a tower at home. 

Her husband dismounts and pulls her down after him, then pulls her with him into the keep. Inside she is startled, it opens up wide, larger than the main hall of Winterfell. Was it all some trick, some illusion? She follows his steps, him leading the way. Halls and turns, steps up then down, it's all some like some maze. He finally pushes through one door... a solar, sparsely decorated but large. Then another door, the bedchamber… it's time. 

She's scared but excited too. He reaches out and touches her cheek, his hand is rough but warm. His fingertips rest on her neck and his thumb just brushes her cheek. It's surprisingly gentle. It makes her shiver and she takes a sharp breath in. 

He pulls away like she's burned him. He turns and walks away, not a word spoken. The door slams behind him and she startles, then the second door slams as well. A tear falls down her cheek. She knows her duty, she knows what's expected. She's been rejected. After all that he's gone. She's alone, so alone. She falls to her knees and starts to sob, asking the old gods how she failed. It's just more of the same. Pretty as a picture she was told, but she'll never be touched, never be loved. Not even by him. Cursed, she knows it now, they were all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She finally meets him. eek!  
> Things didn't go quite as planned though. 
> 
> New chapter tomorrow I expect. Still need to hammer out chapter 6 though. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I forget to mention before, thanks to ineedminions for checking out the story and giving me some help with the flow and the encouragement to finish it. Seriously thanks a lot, this is way different from my usual.


	5. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can live without love,” she offers. “But to live without hope is torture." 
> 
> He turns away from her, silent as a ghost. 
> 
> "Go… leave. A princess in a frozen tower that's all I am. Forever caged. An ornament, a bauble." She falls to her knees, weeping into her hands. "I have nothing and no one. I wish my heart was frozen like yours. Go, just go. Leave me to my despair." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She spends her night alone. Alone she thinks that's all she will ever be. She only just manages to unlace her gown herself, wearing just her shift she slips into bed. Her marriage bed she thought, but dreams are for stupid girls. The furs are warm and she's so tired she's quickly asleep. She sleeps and she dreams. She dreams her husband comes to her with gentle hands stroking her hair with words of love whispered in her ear. He lays down beside her and holds her, she feels so loved. It feels so real. 

She wakes with a smile on her lips. She looks around the room and sees her trunk, plus another. She shifts to throw back the furs when there is a knock at the door. She pulls the furs to her chin and with one more knock the door opens. 

Other people live here? She thinks for a moment, why would she think they’d be all alone? She had seen the men in his army, she knew others were about. She must wear her surprise on her face when the woman enters. 

“Did you think it would just be you?” 

"Well, I hadn't…" she straightens up and answers, "I thought it would be me and the King."

"Oh him. Don't worry your head about him. He went off this morning before dawn, to hunt most likes. He'll be back when he's back. Broody one he is." 

Sansa looks at her shocked. 

"I'd bet once one gets you talking you don't stop," the woman jokes. 

"Well good conversation is important," Sansa answers smartly.

"'Spose it is," the woman answers. "You’ll need to carry many conversations here. You'll scarce get a word out of that one."

"Excuse me?" Sansa asks. 

"Don't look at me like that, it’s the truth ain't it?" She shakes her head. "You're his match I'd wager. You're bright where he's dark. Even your hair is fire to his dark. Warm where he’s cold." The woman laughs then "you'll warm that man right up, I'd bet. We will all tread easier once you work your magic." 

"Magic, I don't…" 

"Pretty girl is a special kind of magic," she clicks her tongue. "You'll see." 

The woman throws open the second trunk and starts digging out a dress. "You want a bath first? You look a bit disheveled.”

“A bath will be lovely,” Sansa answers. “I’m sorry… I didn’t even ask your name.” 

“My name is Magga, I'll get that bath started for you straight away.”

Sansa bathes with Magga's help and asks more questions about her husband. Magga reports back that he is decent enough all will be better once he falls in love with her. That's why they’re both marked after all. Sansa’s not so sure. 

Sansa spends her time exploring the library just down the hall from her rooms. It has so many books, she doesn't think she could ever get through them all. When she asks where her husband's room is Magga just laughs. 

“That’s where you are staying dear girl.” 

“I didn’t mean to take his room,” she says nervously.

“I don’t bet he meant to leave you alone in it," Magga replies. 

Sansa blushes, “I… I don’t know what I did wrong?” 

Magga just smiles, “Be patient with him, he has as much to lose as you.” 

“I doubt that,” Sansa mumbles. 

She finally retires to their room with a book she found today. Will he come tonight? She will need to convince him that she is willing to do anything to make this right. 

He comes to her again late that night. As he opens the door she sits up in the bed. He strides to her with confidence. He lifts his hand to her face but a moment before the touch he stops and turns away. 

It happens every night. He comes, she can feel the weight of his stare under his hood, then he's gone. 

She is afraid. 

Then she's ashamed. 

Then she's sad. 

Then, after five nights she's angry. 

He comes in the same. He pauses in the doorway like she's a leper. Like he's afraid of her. 

She scoffs at him, laughing. She throws the furs back and slides out of bed. She stands tall facing him across the room. Her in a shift and he in his blacks and chain mail. 

His posture stiffens. He starts to turn away. 

"Leave," she hisses. 

He stops, halfway turned. 

"Leave," she rumbles again. "I am yours but you are not mine. I wait here every night for you and you turn away. Give me the truth, I can bear it, I swear.”

He shifts his stance facing her and squaring his shoulders. His face still hidden from her sight. She’s never even laid eyes on her husband's face. 

“There were others before me,” she growls, “and you will have others when I'm gone. You have no care for me. I am bound to you and you are merely occupied by me.” 

Shaking his head he takes a step closer standing tall. 

She won’t be intimidated any longer. She pushes her luck and steps closer to him as well. She raises her face to stare him down. “When did you dispose of your other wives?”

He scoffs. 

She narrows her eyes and continues, “When they made you cross? When their beauty fades?" She steps closer and she can see him stiffen. She's not afraid anymore, she's too mad to be afraid. "Will you call for another, I am surely unworthy. How can I love you when I will be discarded for another?" She shakes her head, "do your worst, I'm tired of being afraid. I am a Stark and I did my duty. I came here for you and you turned away." 

He steps closer. 

"I can live without love,” she offers. “But to live without hope is torture." 

He turns away from her, silent as a ghost. 

"Go… leave. A princess in a frozen tower that's all I am. Forever caged. An ornament, a bauble." She falls to her knees, weeping into her hands. "I have nothing and no one. I wish my heart was frozen like yours. Go, just go. Leave me to my despair." 

He is still turned away from her, "I-" 

"So you can speak," she hisses. 

"You don't want me. You don't want this," he booms turning to her. 

She grits her teeth and hisses at him, "How could I? You leave me here alone. You won't touch me, won't speak. How am I to want you if all you do is turn away." 

"I'm here and you pull away, you cringe. This isn't what I wanted," he argues. 

"I'm sorry to be such a disappointment to you, your grace." 

"Don't mock me," he growls back. 

"Don't abandon me. Don't ignore me. Don't give up on me. I'm here for you."

He scoffs. 

"What are you going to do? Send me home? Have me killed. Abandon me in this tower to rot?" 

"Is that what you want? To go home?" 

"No."

"What?"

"No, I don't want to go home. They don't love me. They don't want me. No one has ever loved me. No that's a lie." She shakes her at that and points an accusing finger at him, "they loved me till you marked me, now no one loves me. Not even you." She starts to cry. Burying her face in her hands. "Am I so hard to love?" 

He mumbles a response. She can hear the creak of the wood floor as he moves closer. 

"I love you." 

"How?" 

He squats down beside her. "When I was marked… I was angry. I didn't want it. I didn't want to be King. I didn't want a wife. I certainly didn't want you." 

She looks up and tries to steady her breath to listen. 

"Some princess from Southern lands,” he waves a hand towards her. “How? How could I ever want you? But when I saw you, my LaLelia. I felt it then. I knew the gods were true. You are my little weirwood. My roots. My strength. You are my Queen, you are what makes me a King."

He reaches for her stroking her hair just like the man from her dreams. He offers his other hand and pulls her up to stand. 

"Then I wasn't angry,” he says still holding her hand, “I was scared. The more I watched you the more I fell in love. I fell in love with you, but how could you ever love me?"

"I was marked. You are my soul, my destiny.” She whispers back, “do you think I would turn away so easily? Do you think I would abandon that chance?"

"But the South-"

"I have nothing there," she whispers. She takes a chance and one step closer, standing before him. "May I touch you?" She asks quietly. 

"Yes," his whisper so low she can barely hear it. 

She thinks to touch his face but… no. She brings his gloved hand up, cradling it in both of hers. She looks up to try to meet his eyes, this close they are brilliant blue peaking out between the cowl and hood. With her left hand she starts to pull at the fingertips of his glove loosening them until she pulls it free and drops it to the floor. His skin is dark, a gray blue. She unbuckles the strap at his wrist pushing it up his forearm. The blue lightens as it creeps up his arm. She lets her fingertips trace the muscles of his forearm then the bones and veins of his hand. His hand is warm. She can’t help but smile. She turns his hand over and traces the lines on his palm. 

"What do you see?" He whispers. He sounds almost childlike with wonder. 

She traces the line bisecting his hand, "your life line is long, very long." She nods, not quite sure how she is so sure. "These, these small lines from your thumb. Truth, success and luck follow you." 

"And?" 

She smiles then cinches her brows. "It's your love line, it's strong… and," she looks up to him. She shakes her head in confusion. "It's… it's the same." She looks at her own palm before lining her right hand up with his left. "They are the same." 

He nods, moving his fingers to lace with her own. "We were made for each other, made to complement each other." 

She looks at their interlaced hands. His fingers are dark against her pale skin. "Why-?" She stops, maybe she shouldn't pry, he has finally not pushed her away. But she takes breath and asks anyway. "Why are your hands so dark?" 

"Oh that," he says and she can hear the smile on his lips. He leans in and whispers, "squid ink." He answers so confidently but she's even more confused. 

"Oh," she breathes out. Then she wrinkles her nose, "but why?" 

He makes a sound like a muffled laugh. "Tradition. When we accept our bride we wear full battle armor with our army behind us. To have our demands taken seriously we must show our strength. The ink dyed hands are easy to see against the snow, if I must give orders in silence, I can with my hands. My ancestors also believed the ink kept their hands warm. It has already begun to fade.”

She smiles up at him. 'Don't rush him,' she thinks to herself. She shifts her hand, unlinking their fingers. His posture stiffens, maybe he's nervous. She moves her hand to cradle his, then guides it closer to just graze her cheek. "I am your wife, I am yours," she says softly. 

"You are mine and I am yours," he answers back. He lightly brushes her skin with his thumb. He seems to follow the movement with his eyes. 

She leans into his touch. He's afraid, she reminds herself. He's afraid she will reject him. 'Reassure him,' she tells herself. "Husband," she whispers. His attention snaps back up to meet hers. She raises her left hand in question. 

His eyes widen with understanding and he nods. She reaches up to pull away the cowl hiding his face. "Wife," he whispers back. She pushes back the hood. His hand catches hers, bringing it to his bearded cheek. 

She smiles, "you have a beard." Brushing through the dark hair gently. She lets her thumb touch the bare skin high on his cheek. She smiles again when he leans into her touch. She examines his face, his eyes are starting blue, his hair and beard is dark, like a Northman she thinks. His brow is strong and his lips are full. "My husband is a handsome man," she praises. 

"My LaLelia is beautiful," he answers without pause. He steps closer looking down at her softly and stroking her cheek.

Sansa leaned into his hand before giggling. “I don’t even know your name. What am I to call you?”

“My name is Tirich, it means ‘one who emerges from shadows’." 

"Tirich," she hums. "I like it." 

"I like how you say it," he whispers. "Sounds better on your lips," his eyes linger there before raising to meet her eyes. His hand moves slowly through her hair. 

"I'd ask for a gift from my husband," she whispers. 

"Anything," he answers without pause. Both his hands come to cradle her face. 

“A kiss,” her voice drops to a whisper. “My husband has yet to kiss me.” She takes a slow breath, she's never kissed a man before, scarcely even touched by another person in years. He lowers his head and she raises up to meet his lips. It's soft and gentle, and so very warm. 

His hand slips down her neck causing a tingle of pleasure down her spine. She steps into him and hums into the kiss. One of her hands brushes through beard and her other hand raises to stroke his neck where his collar stops. He makes a low noise like a growl and she smiles into the kiss. 

"Well done," she whispers. 

"Anything for you," he answers with a peck to her lips, "anything." 

She smiles again as their lips meet. His hand slides down into the small of her back nudging her closer still. Her chest presses into him and the mail he wears is rough against her thin shift causing her to gasp. His mouth opens in response and the kiss goes from warm to fire. He shifts angling his mouth and she can taste his kiss now. His tongue touches hers and she sighs, her hand shifting to grip the collar of his mail. She wants to be closer to him… she needs it. 

He chuckles against her lips, "I'll get as close as you let me… wife." 

She blushes in response, burying her face in his neck. His arm slides around her to hold her close as his hand strokes her hair down her back. 

"I didn't mean to say that out loud," she breathes out embarrassed. 

He hums back lowering his lips to press a kiss to her hair. "I want you to tell me everything." He laughs then a little, "especially where you want me to touch you." 

"But that's wanton, I could never," she gasps. 

"You can… please," he rumbles back. "I wouldn't mind a wanton wife." 

She bites her lip and looks up into his eyes searching. 

He pecks a quick kiss to her lips and leans in to whisper into her ear, "that's not entirely true. She shifts in his hold but he continues, "I would love my wanton wife." He presses a warm kiss just below her ear and she sighs again, tipping her head to offer him room. 

He trails more warm kisses down her neck when he licks her there, she bites back a moan. 

"Wife," he whispers against her skin. 

He kisses, licks and sucks… she never could have believed it could feel this good. "Husbands," she starts, barely able to catch her breath. She pats his chest and he slows his attentions and she whines in return. "Husbands shouldn't wear their armor to bed." 

He pauses and looks up to her eyes, "bed? You'll allow me into your bed?" 

"Please," she whispers, pecking a kiss to his bearded chin. "Please come to bed," she starts to pull him to her bed. 

He kisses her hand and seems to reluctantly let her hand go. She crawls into bed as he quickly shucks off his clothes. 

"My brothers told me so many things," he says nearly tripping as he strips down to his linen trousers. 

"Brothers?" She asks. 

"Four brothers, one sister… my parent's marriage was fruitful. You'll meet them, later." 

He approaches the bed slowly, she has time appreciate his form. His chest is wide and muscled his belly lean. His arms look strong. His smile is what warms her though, she wants to see that the most. He looks at her softly, but when she lifts the furs to invite him to bed his smile looks a little wild. He slides under the furs and she scoots closer till they touch. She pushes her hand into his hair and lets the other rest on his chest. His hair is soft against her fingers, she drags her nails gently against his scalp and he purrs in response. His hand slides over her hip and it's warm even through her shift. He pulls her against him and finds her lips with his. They kiss deeply, he groans when she sucks his bottom lip. His hands roam up her back to her shoulder then down the curve of her waist to her hips and thigh, just seeming to raise the hem of her shift and inch with each pass. His fingertips dragging across the skin on her thigh is intoxicating and she wants more. 

"Touch me," she whines. Pulling on his shoulders to draw him nearer. 

His hand drags up her thigh, pulling her shift up as his hand grips her bum. 

"Yes," she pants pulling him again. 

He pushes, rolling her onto her back. His hand squeezes her bum as his lips find her neck and she groans out loud. She shifts wrapping one leg around his hips pulling him closer then she rocks into him. 

"Yes," she groans and can feel his warm pants against her neck. 

He moves down and licks her collarbone then her chest between the ties of her shift before his mouth closes over her nipple through the cloth. She groans again as her hands clutch into his hair pulling him closer. Her hips start to canter against him and he sucks and hums against her. He presses his hips against hers and she shudders, feeling ready to burst. 

"Please, please, please," she mutters holding him close. 

"Wife," he growls the tone verging on pain. 

"Yes, wife," she mumbles. He lets go of her nipple and nuzzles his nose into her hair. The rock of his body against hers it's more… it's so much but still not enough. "Please," she whines, "make me your wife." 

He fumbles with the ties on her shift, ripping the collar as he tries to widen it. Then he pulls down his trousers and pulls up her shift. She can feel his manhood against her thigh. She never understood, not until now… the need. She needs him, needs him now. She squeezes his hips with her thighs as his mouth finds her lips again. 

"Wife," he growls against her lips. Then she feels him against her core and she nearly cries out with need. Then he's there, his manhood presses into her… a stretch. A pull. A pinch… and it's done. She's his. He is moving quickly, but each push he offers leaves her wanting more. 

"Oh Gods," she moans. She's going to fall, she can feel it… she's going to fall. Then he thrusts again, and he's there with a possessive kiss and a squeeze on her bum and she does… she falls. And it's like nothing she's ever felt before. She nearly screams in response, her voice lowers to a moan and she can hear him gasping and groaning until he shudders and moans on her neck. 

He's heavy on her now. So heavy, warm and safe. She wraps one arm around his waist holding him close, the other brushes through his hair. 

He mumbles out, "I'll crush you." 

"No, I like it," she whispers back. 

He just hums into her hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The explicit finally came to pass. 
> 
> Okay, I know it was fast, but their soulmates. That makes it ok. Right? 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Yay rare pair!
> 
> Thank you so much to ineesminions!!!


	6. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No. You Starks gave up the old ways long ago. The power lingers here. It lingers in you too. You just have to listen, the forest, the birds, the wolves they all watch for me. Our legacy is long, we have been Kings as long as the Starks, longer now. We are still Kings." He leans forward to peck a kiss to her lips. His body presses warm on her skin. ”We follow the Old Gods, they make us strong and protect us.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He shifts, laying on his side facing her, "did I hurt you?" 

"No," she smiles back. 

He raises his eyebrows at her. 

"A little," she clarifies. "Less than I expected." 

"I want to be good to you," he whispers. "I want you to love me, my LeLelia."

"I want that too," she whispers back. 

"We are meant to be," he answers, placing a kiss on her collarbone.. 

"LeLelia? You call me LaLelia," She asks. "The Volkumn…" Her hands run through his hair and she encourages his head to pillow on her chest. 

He smiles, "She's a healer and elder woman. She's here." He plays with the collar of her shift. 

"She is?" Sansa asks. "She was always kind. She taught me so many things." 

"She left when I was young," he explains. "She saw you in a vision. She said I would be marked with a woman south of the Wall. So we sent her to you. To teach, to help you know the North. To keep you safe." 

She freezes in place, "That was you? You did that?" 

"To keep you safe? Of course we did," he raises up onto his elbows to look down on her. 

She wants to cry, "They kept me locked away. When I was marked, they stole my life. My mother shunned me. My father turned cold and sad. My siblings were forbidden to play with me. The common folk looked at me with fear. They would no longer let me ride. I couldn't even leave the castle, they caged me." 

"Why?" He asks confused. "Why would they do that? You are a blessing, a light in the dark. Why?" 

"You didn't demand it?" 

"Why would I?" He scoffs. "I would never make you unhappy, never." 

"They said it was to protect me." 

"That's just stupid, who would hurt you? Who would dare?”

“They said…”

“Sometimes ‘they’ are stupid.” He reaches his hand out asking for hers. 

When she offers he laces them together, leaning in closer, holding it against his chest. “You are my bride, my Queen,” he offers. “You may go wherever you choose.” 

She looks up into his eyes, “You will let me out of the castle?” 

He scoffs, "of course.” He moves to kiss her knuckles. “There is no one here that will hurt, no one will cross me.”

“You cannot know that.” 

“I do.” 

She looks up into his eyes, looking for a lie.

“You don't believe me?” He smiles down at her, “I will not lie to you. These are my lands, I know everything that happens here.”

“You can't, that’s impossible.”

“No. You Starks gave up the old ways long ago. The power lingers here. It lingers in you too. You just have to listen, the forest, the birds, the wolves they all watch for me. Our legacy is long, we have been Kings as long as the Starks, longer now. We are still Kings." He leans forward to peck a kiss to her lips. His body presses warm on her skin. ”We follow the Old Gods, they make us strong and protect us.” 

"We?" She asks softly. 

"We... my father was King, as was my grandfather before him. One of my sons will be King after me.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. ”It’s a secret.” 

“A secret?” 

"We are not some perpetual God immune to death. Some of what they say are true, some of the stories." He pauses as a wry smile crosses his lips, "but I only have one life and I'll live it with you." 

"No one knows," she whispers. 

“A few… but I will share all my secrets with you,” he answers quietly. “My mother is my father’s strength. A Night King needs his Queen, it is our way.” 

“I didn't know,” she answers softly bowing her head. 

“How could you?” He asks, lifting her chin to face him. 

"I don’t know much… the Volkumn tried…”

“She will teach you more," he interupts. "I can teach you too." He shifts in the bed and pulls her to rest her head on him. 

"I'd like to learn," she whispers. 

"My mother believed I would be the heir, from the day I was born.” He starts to play with her hair. "That's why she chose my name as she did. She didn't name me after the bear, the sky or the river. I am the shadow." 

“She thought?” 

“The Gods pick the heir, birth does not choose it here,” he answers slowly. “All the boys are raised the same until one is marked, it is his Queen that makes him King." 

Her eyes go wide then she laughs back. “It’s different, my older brother is heir because he was born first.”

“I know, that is your family’s way, but how many men die young or fall in battle?” 

“Then the next oldest male would take his place,” she answers. 

“And if he was a child?” 

“He’d have advisors,” she answers. “Like my father.” 

“But what if he was unworthy? If you don’t listen to the Gods… how is the line secure? What if he doesn't rule with his heart? A man needs to consider his heart and my wife is my heart. Without a wife how can a man rule?” 

She looks up confused. “She always said you needed me… I never really believed it.” 

"It's the truth," he whispers, kissing her head. "Now sleep LeLelia, we will have duties to attend to in the morning." 

She lingers awake long enough to hear her husband start to snore softly. She snuggles into his side warm and hopeful as she drifts off to sleep. 

"The black?" She asks him pointing to the black gown her maid is holding. 

"Anything you want," he answers. "I am the shadow, you are my light." He steps to her letting his hands slide around her as he leans down to whisper in her ear. "We could just skip it entirely. Strip all this off of you and stay in bed." 

She blushes, remembering early this morning when he woke her with soft kisses and gentle touches. He kissed her everywhere, and she means everywhere. Before taking her again. It was lovely, but she should stop thinking of it or she'll turn red as a tomato. 

"We must meet your family," she insists as he pecks a kiss to her neck. 

He sighs, "I've met them already. I'd rather stay here with you." His hands slide down her sides over her stays and underskirt till they stop at her bum pulling her closer. "Must we?" He asks and brushes his nose to hers. 

"We must," she insists. "What would they think if we delay?" 

He laughs, "they'd think you are enjoying your husband and the Gods are wise for marking us as one." 

"Get dressed," she scolds. 

He smiles devilishly, "as my Queen commands." He takes a few steps away, letting his valet help him finish dressing. 

She points to one of the dresses hoping he'll be pleased. Her maid helps her dress quickly and she smiles as she turns to her husband. He's dressed in black again, head to toe. He looks like a shadow. She can feel his stare heavy in her and he steps to her. 

"My Queen, you are perfect. A true light in the dark." Her gown is snow white and a bright contrast to him. He takes her hand and presses a kiss there. He links her arm in his starts for the door. They go down two flights of stairs then to the left then right before he pauses at a door. 

"We will meet my family here first," he tells her. My mother Aine, my father Quilo. My brothers and their wives are there as well. My sister is there too, you will meet them all. 

She bites her lip nervously. 

His hands come up to cup her face. "You are my wife, you are their family… they will love you." He lowers his cowl to kiss her lips. "Let's get this done," he jokes. He takes her arm again and pushes through the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear its done. 
> 
> Because I'm a dork... his mother's name means sunshine and his father's means winter.
> 
> I'm actually hoping to sneak back for an epilogue, but not sure when I'll fit it in. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I had fun.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is definetly a rare pair. Thanks for taking the time to check it out. The fic on my end is nearly complete. 
> 
> This is my own little take on this and will stray far from cannon.


End file.
